Into the Fold
by Visage
Summary: He wanted nothing to do with the the newest potential Core Team member. But if the Colonel thought he had potential, he at least owed the kid a chance to prove what a menace he was.
1. Chapter 1

Into the Fold  
By Visage

It seems that most of my stories start as one or two little scenes that just won't leave me alone. This one is no exception. My thoughts on how Newkirk and Carter become Biffles even though it seems all Poor Carter has to do sometimes is breathe and it rubs our favorite Negative Nellie the wrong way. A friendship tale in three parts. No infringement is intended nor profit being made.

Chapter 1

He could feel his eyes rolling so far back in his skull, he was almost worried they would freeze that way. An angry growl escaped from the back of his throat as he crossed his arms in defiance. "You can't be serious."

Corporal Peter Newkirk watched as his commanding officer, Colonel Hogan, took a deep breath of his own. The small office that doubled as the Colonel's private quarters suddenly shrank in size. What little of the mid-afternoon light that filtered in through the smudged and frosted window only fueled the Corporal's temper. What had started out as a lovely morning and early afternoon had taken a decidedly sour turn.

"Newkirk, I know I'm springing this on you," Hogan tried to keep his voice calm. "But it's just a routine pick up, you've done it a hundred times before."

"Not with him." Newkirk shook his head. "I won't go if he's with me. That's just asking for trouble." He knew he was taking his life in his hands, but considering the alternative it was a calculated and acceptable risk.

Newkirk could see the wheels turning as his Colonel turned to pace the length of his bunk as he re-thought his strategy. Stubbornly, the Corporal refused to budge, planting his feet shoulder width apart and hugging his arms tighter to his chest. There was no turning back now.

It had been nearly nine months since this American officer fell from the sky, literally and figuratively, and taken up residence in the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. In that short time he had done more for the Allied War Effort than all the other outfits Newkirk had been a part of combined. Colonel Robert Hogan had restored the hope and fight to men who thought of themselves as forgotten. He had gathered a downtrodden and ragged group of men and organized them into an elite espionage and sabotage unit. It was this fact, and the respect it had earned him, that kept Newkirk's hands from swinging at the Colonel's nose and kept his stripes on his sleeves.

Hogan took one more pace of the room before continuing. "I know Carter's not as seasoned, but I have a good feeling about him. He knows his stuff and he's always willing to pitch in."

"He's just a kid! A klutzy, annoying kid who doesn't know when to keep his ruddy trap shut."

"You're not exactly ready for a rest home yet yourself, Grandpa." Hogan rolled his eyes. "You've only got a few months on him. And what he lacks in experience he makes up for in spirit. He's a good man."

"Good for what? Causing mayhem, perhaps? Putting his foot in his mouth? Or getting the rest of us locked in the bloody cooler?" Newkirk knew he was dancing dangerously over the line of insubordination, but self-preservation in a fit of temper had never been one of his strengths.

"Some of us don't exactly need a lot of help in that department."

Newkirk had the presence of mind to dip his head slightly in shame. It was no secret he was one of the most reliable troublemakers in camp. The other boys often joked that they were going to re-name the cooler and dedicate one of the cells in his dishonor with a plaque and everything. But at least he only did it to himself. His pride and left ankle was still smarting from the incident at the Kommandant's dinner party three weeks ago where the contents of an entire bottle of champagne found itself dribbling down a sputtering General Burkhalter. For once he has been completely innocent in the whole ordeal. However, Burkhalter liked to follow the motto "when one gets in trouble you all get in trouble" when dealing with prisoners.

"Beggin' the Colonel's pardon, but Andrew Carter is a ruddy menace."

"Agreed." Hogan's arms fell to his side. "But he's a ruddy menace with potential. All the conversations I've had with him have shown a kid who's a little scattered brained, but he knows his stuff. No one else in camp has the chemical knowledge he does and we could use him. He's already been doing little odd jobs and operation from inside the wire. I want him, Newkirk. He's just the kind of man we need. Kinch likes the idea, and LeBeau is warming up to it. But I can't bring him in full time unless you all agree."

"Then there's no need to step outside camp. I can already tell you I don't approve."

Hogan stepped forward, making sure to catch Newkirk's eyes. "There were quite a few people in London who had the same opinion about you, Corporal. 'Don't bother. Can't follow orders or hold his temper. A bloody sneak thief who can't be trusted.'" The Colonel let his words sink in for a moment, putting his hand on the Brit's shoulder. "Aren't you glad I gave you the chance to prove how annoying you could be first?"

Newkirk tried to hide the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The Colonel had a point.

"One chance." Hogan said. "All I ask is you give the kid one chance. I did that for Kinch. For LeBeau. Even you, though Heaven knows why. And you've each proved many times over that I can trust you with my life."

Newkirk studied the floor, his temper cooling as he turned the Colonel's words over in mind. His anger didn't stand a chance against the admiration he had for this officer, an American one at that. This Air Corp Colonel had proven he would do anything for the men under his command, that he weighed the risks to the outcome, and, no matter how unorthodox the solution, made sure the health and safety of "his boys" came first. At the very least, Newkirk owed him his obedience.

"Alright." Newkirk sighed. He ran his hands through his hair as he heaved a sigh of resignation. "Just give me the afternoon to get me affairs in order. I'd hate to go to the firing squad with loose ends.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The woods were silent and still, the only movement coming from the soft flakes of snow falling from the sky. They glittered like diamonds on the carpet of white, catching the light of the moonbeams and occasional search lights as they settled.

There was a small disturbance at the top of snarled tree stump, causing a small avalanche of snow to tumble to the ground. A few moments of pause before the entire top rose up like a lid and thin figure slithered out. Quickly, the figure hid behind the old stump, waiting for the expected search light to pass. After a few seconds, they knocked on the stump and another bundle emerged. A few silent nods, a wave of the first hand, and the two melted into the forest, leaving little trace that they had been there at all.

Despite the snow gathering on the ground, the temperature was fairly mild. As they walked, they began to work up a sweat. The leader even unbuttoned the top button of his jacket. It had been a few weeks since he had been outside the wire and he took in a deep lungful of air through his nose. It made no sense to him, but somehow the air always tasted sweeter on the outside.

They traveled close for almost an entire minute before the second figure couldn't wait any longer. "Gosh, it's pretty out here. It reminds me of the woods back home."

The leader of their small expedition stopped short and turned, his eyes fiery with impatience. "Do you want to see it from underground, Carter? Because we have a good chance of ending up six feet under if you don't keep your bleeding trap shut."

Carter clasped a hand over his own mouth and shrugged an apology. The leader shook his head before continuing forward to their destination.

Corporal Peter Newkirk was still steaming from his meeting with their commanding officer hours later. He had hoped the American Colonel would have re-thought their "discussion" and realized he was right after all. Or at the very least asked someone else to babysit the new kid. But after a final word of warning to watch each other's backs, Hogan sent them up the ladder to the exit and on their way to a supply drop. Newkirk hugged his jacket tighter around him as he walked, surprised by the sudden force of the wind pushing at his back. The Colonel agreed that with the brightness of the moon tonight it made more sense to stay in their uniforms rather than switching to the camouflage of black clothing. At least this gave them the chance to use the "escaped prisoner" excuse in case of emergency.

Newkirk was already mentally working on a story to give his would-be-captors. Just in case.

Only a few minutes farther, Newkirk heard a thump and a grunt from Carter a split second before something barreled into his back. He fell forward and landed hard on his stomach, the air rushing from his lungs. He struggled to stand, but something was pinning him to the ground and preventing his lungs from replenishing the supply they had lost.

"Oh, Gosh! I'm so sorry! I tripped; I think it was a tree root or something. I didn't mean it, honest. Are you okay?"

Newkirk wheezed and huffed, thrashing his arms to get the lanky but solid Sergeant off his body. "Right now I feel about as flat as one of LeBeau's disgusting pancakes that you can read the newspaper through. Thanks. I needed that. Now… Get. Off."

Carter scrambled to his feet, continually mumbling apologies and accidentally sending his elbow into Newkirk's ribs as he tried to stand. Newkirk lay still for a few more minutes, counting backwards from ten in his head, then twenty, then thirty, trying to keep from throttling the kid.

A few minutes later, Newkirk had found his feet. With a scowl on his face, he shook his head at the sergeant. He pointed in front of him. "Go, before I return the favor."

They made good time to the usual airplane rendezvous point with no other incidents. Within fifteen minutes, they were crouched behind a group of bushes with their eyes on the sky. Newkirk had a flashlight at the ready to signal the pilot they were there.

"Do you get to go on supply drops often, Newkirk?" Careful to keep his voice low and barely above a whisper, apparently Carter couldn't handle the silence any longer.

Newkirk growled. "Sometimes. Depends on what we need."

"Kinda like grocery shopping, isn't it?"

Newkirk grunted a response, not really confirming or denying. He tried to turn his back to the klutzy American, keeping his eyes fixed on the sky above.

"Call in your order and go pick it up when it's ready a few hours later." Carter said with a grin in his voice. "I always liked going grocery shopping with my mom when I was a kid." He folded his arms over his chest as his eyes gazed into the distance. "She would take turns with us kids who got to go, so we each got a chance for her undivided attention. And after we put in our order at the general store, we'd walk over to the drugstore and order a soda to share while we waited."

" _Mon Dieu_ , _he is so young_!" Newkirk's inner monologue was suspiciously… French? " _Then again, what we do is dangerous we're always two steps away from the firing squad ourselves. But how is that any different than if we send him home? He would join another bomber crew and be in harm's way again. At least here he has a fighting chance to do some good first_." Newkirk's mind turned over that thought of information.

"My big brother, Sam, used to take me there after school sometimes. That drugstore was kinda the biggest landmark in town, except the general store and the church. And Rutherford B. Hayes High School until we lost the science wing. But drugstore was definitely the most interesting landmark. Sam and I, we'd always look at the baseball card for sale and watch the people who came into the store. I… I was kinda hoping we'd be able to bring my kid brother with us next fall, now that he's tall enough to reach the counter. He's a character, boy. A bit of a scatterbrain, but really means well. Still has a little bit of growing to do, though."

Newkirk couldn't stop the small smirk that chased at the corner of his mouth. If Captain Obvious was calling his little brother scatterbrained, he couldn't help but feel sorry for their mother. What an interesting childhood those Carter Boys must have had.

" _It sounds like he has more experience as a Little Brother than a Big Brother_ ," this time he heard a quietly smooth voice with a familiar Detroit accent in his head. " _Little siblings always need some guidance. Where else could a guy have four big brothers to show him the ropes_?" Newkirk rolled his eyes with a sigh. But he couldn't argue with that assessment. But this kid needed a more than just a LITTLE guidance.

A moment later, he realized he was able to follow the Sergeant's jumbled train of thoughts. Either he had spent too much time with the Loon and he was beginning to make sense, or Newkirk was going 'round the bend himself. He shook his head clear, not sure which would be the preferable outcome.

Carter sighed as he shifted his weight to his other foot. "What about you, Newkirk? You have any brothers or sisters back home?"

Newkirk was silent for a moment. His mind screamed at him to focus on the drop and ignore the ridiculous chatter next to him. But something in the sincere question wouldn't let him focus on anything else. "Me little sister. Mavis." His voice was quiet, afraid the universe would overhear him and take away his only bit of family left. "She went and turned into a lady despite my best example. She's a good girl. Smart as a whip, sometimes I wonder if we're really related. But she's a spitfire. Won't take guff from no one."

"I dunno, sounds like a Newkirk to me." Carter said with a shrug.

Whatever Newkirk was about to reply was cut short by the sound of an engine flying closer overhead. "That would be our groceries. Stay down." He adjusted his aim toward the sky and flicked the flashlight in a series of short and long flashes. The plane answered almost immediately by shedding a small package, the plume of the parachute slowing its fall to the ground.

Newkirk peeked his head out from the bush before he disentangled himself and jogged over to the small package. As he bent down to pick it up he gave Carter a wave with his flashlight to follow. He quickly obeyed.

"Alright, now we go as quickly and quietly back to camp as we can. Newkirk palmed the small envelope and wrapped the parachute around it. Within moments he stored it in the inside pocket of his coat. "Do you know which way we need to head?"

Carter took a look around. His eyes grew as wide as a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Newkirk could almost see the wheels turning as he scrambled to think of which way they had come from.

Newkirk sighed, but wasn't as annoyed as he thought he would have been. That thought also surprised him. "If you're going to leave camp, try to get a look at your surroundings. Always keep a landmark in your sight so you don't get turned around in all the trees. Now go that way before I leave you here for the Germans to find." He gave Carter a half-hearted shove in the right direction before shaking his head and following.

They had only gone a few minutes when they heard a shout from behind them. " _Halt! Ich schiesse_!"

"Go!" Newkirk hissed, giving Carter another shove. "Run!" Without any further prompting, the two sprinted through the trees, crashing through the thin layer of snow and ice. Low branches and flecks of ice pelted their cheeks, their arm wide trying to stay upright as their feet slipped on patches of snow.

Newkirk felt the searing pain in his side almost before he heard the shot. The surprise made his still tender ankle slip just right and he crashed to the ground with a yelp. He clenched his teeth together as he curled up on himself, his arms wrapping around his middle. His mind was blank, unable to focus on anything but the burn radiating from his side. This was bad.

A crimson stain was spreading on his sweater, thick and dark. Newkirk carefully fingered the slice in his shirt, inspecting the large furrow that was leaking blood. It was just a graze, but a very deep one. He could lay a finger in the trench it left in his skin. Even so, he was grateful for small miracles. Just a few inches to the right and he would have been on his way to the great performance hall in the sky with a stomach full of lead.

He heard the crash of boots coming closer though the trees. This was really bad.

"Newkirk! Are you alright?"

Newkirk sighed as the Sergeant slid next to him as if he were coming into home plate. At least he could pass off the shipment to Hogan. He'd send Carter back with the drop and distract the patrol. He just hoped he would be able to come back in spirit form to tell Hogan a resigned 'I told you so.' He tightened his arms around the middle, part trying to slow the blood dripping from his wound and part hiding the seriousness from Carter.

"I'm fine, mate. Just… just turned me ankle is all." He carefully dug into his jacket to retrieve the package. Straight-faced he held it out to his partner. "You need to take this. Go straight the way we were headed and look for the tree stump. The Colonel needs this. I'll keep these jokers busy."

Carter looked at him with a blank expression, as if he didn't understand his words. After a full five seconds his eyes widened and he violently shook his head. "Wha-? No! That's not how this is supposed to work! C'mon I can help you!" He ignored the outstretched hand and reached to grab under his arms. He started to yank the Corporal to his feet, only succeeding in letting a hiss escape through Newkirk's teeth.

"Carter! If we do that we'll both get caught! I'm not sure how far I can go. But you can definitely make it alone. Haven't you ever heard of the good of the many?"

"Not this time. I had one job on this mission. My only responsibility was to watch your back. I can't go back without you."

Newkirk growled. His angry response was cut off by a German Soldier crashing through the bushes, his gun trained on the two prisoners.

" _Halt_! _Hande hoche_!" In any other instance, Newkirk would have laughed. This soldier, a private by the insignia on his too big coat, could have toppled over with a strong breeze. Young and thin, his hands trembled as they held the riffle. Now because Carter refused to listen to him, he was sacrificing his life AND Carters because a kid got off a lucky shot. That post-mortem 'I told you so' he owed Hogan was going to be a pleasure to deliver.

Newkirk opened his mouth, ready to use his only talent of diversion and confusion to somehow talk their way out of this mess of a mission when a powerful voice in a thick German accent barked from behind him. "Achtung! You Dummkopf! How dare you interfere with official war business! Identify yourself!"

Newkirk would have never guessed the little private could tremble any more than he already had been. "P-Private Karl Lachner, Mein Herr! I –I…"

"You idiot! You have just compromised a top secret mission!" Newkirk risked a short glance over his shoulder, his jaw almost dropped to the ground. There was bumbling, klutzy Andrew J. Carter, standing at full attention, his eyes were blazing with fury. He reached into the pocket of his flight jacket and produced a tattered, folded paper. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he gave his audience a quick view as if he were a Police Detective showing his badge in a movie before returning it to his pocket, all without taking his eyes off of Private Lachner. "Major Josepf Cartermeyer, Abwehr. This man had no idea of my true identity. I have been posing as an American Prisoner of War for six months. Six long months living and breathing with disgusting Allied swine, we finally were about to enact our plan! I befriended this fool and we were escaping from Stalag 5 with false intelligence to pass back to the Allies when we reach England. This could have been the turning point in the war! You have some serious explaining to do, Private."

"Herr Major! I had no idea-"

"Silence!" Carter screamed. "Your incompetence has just caused us one of the most valuable operations we've ever set in motion! Possibly the entire war! General Hoganmueller will be extremely displeased. I highly suggest you turn around, go back to your base and forget everything you just saw before he sends you where you need to go ice fishing for your toothbrush every morning. Now, Move!"

Private Lachner didn't wait for a second request. He turned on his heels and sprinted back into the bushes.

Almost a full minute passed before a rush of air that Newkirk didn't realize he was holding escaped, his entire body sagging with relief. He turned back over his shoulder. Carter was still standing behind him, this time, the anger on his face replaced with his usual lopsided grin. It's as if he was an entirely different person.

"Man, some of these Krauts just can't take criticism, can they?" Carter knelt down again and reached out to help Newkirk to his feet, a little more gently and less rushed this time. Newkirk still let out a quiet curse. His head was beginning to swim and his entire body was thumping in time with his heart. He quickly put the small package back in his pocket.

"What the ruddy blazes was that?" Newkirk shifted his weight evenly between his two feet. He steadied his breathing and focused his eyes on Carter, trying to ignore the growing burn at his side eating him alive.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time. I heard Kinch and The Colonel do a bit like that over the phone last week. It worked for them, figured it was worth at least a try."

Newkirk's laugh ended with a low moan. "Bloody marvelous is what it was! I think we lucked out that a private found us. I don't know if it would have worked for anyone higher than a Sergeant with us in our own uniforms. Now if we had _Luftwaffe_ uniforms..." Newkirk trailed off as he sucked in a careful lungful of air. "Good job, Mate. We'd best be heading back or the Colonel will finish what that Kraut started."

Carter grinned. "You can use me as a crutch for your ankle. I'm sorry you twist-" His voice trailed off as he reached his arm around Newkirk and found the material of his uniform sticky and wet. "You're bleeding."

"I ruddy well know that, Carter." Newkirk winced. He voice sounded weak to his own ears. The edge of his vision was starting grow fuzzy and gray. There was no time for this, they still had a mile walk back to camp. "It's not that bad. Just a… a flesh wound."

Carter scowled at Newkirk, not convinced, but knowing they had to get a move on in case Lachner decided to get brave and gather his buddies. Gingerly he wrapped Newkirk's arm around his shoulder, careful to avoid the growing stain. The two began their slow hobble back to camp. "No worries, Buddy. I got you. Slow and steady, right? Now, tell me more about your little sister. Mavis, was it? I bet she and my little brother would be good buddies."

"If you think you're getting your scatterbrained brother anywhere near me sister." Newkirk's stomach dropped to his knees, and not just because of the terrible image of Mavis falling head over heels for a Carter that reportedly more accident prone than the one he knew.

"Now this is _really_ bad." He managed to whisper before a pain shot through his belly and the whole world went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all for your kind words! This is more of an epilogue than a full chapter... Just a little something to tie everything together into a nice neat bow. :)

I have gone back and fixed my typos, especially in the second chapter. Apparently my Massachusetts education was showing and I was dropping my "R's" like New Englanders do in their every day speech. Whoops! Hopefully I've caught them all!

Still no profit being made nor infringement intended. Thank you for allowing me to share this with you!

Chapter 3

The strong smell of soap and chicken soup drifted under his nose. His body still throbbed, though it had turned into a dull ache spread throughout his body. He tried to curl in on himself, his hands going for the area near his belly where a fire was crawling across his skin, but was held in place by a pair of firm hands on his shoulder. "Easy there, Corporal. Lie still."

Newkirk carefully opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light streaming in through the window. The firm hand disappeared for a moment and the light dimmed. A moment later, it returned.

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. We were getting a little worried about you."

"Colonel Hogan?" Newkirk raised a hand to his eyes, rubbing them clear. "Just went I was getting excited about coming back to haunt you. Still, I'm ruddy glad to see you, Sir." He took a quick look around, familiar, but from a different vantage point. He was back in the barracks where he belonged, but not in his usual upper bunk by the door. He was… below it?

"Carter." Hogan said with a smile, answering the question he saw brewing on his Corporal's face. "He fireman carried you back here when you decided to take a little nap. Then he offered to let you use his bunk so we could check on you easier. Hey, keep still! Wilson and I worked hard sewing you back together last night, and I'd rather _not_ go through that again if I can help it, thank you very much."

Newkirk sighed as he sank back into the thin mattress. He was resting on his good side, an extra blanket folded under his head as a pillow. He sucked in a deep breath of surprise, his ribs protesting with the suddenly stretch on his still tender skin. "Where's Carter? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, a little shook up but a whole lot better off than you. I think you took a few years off his life when you took that header on the way back. He and the other boys are doing some morning chores for Schultz and should be back soon. Klink thinks you've got the flu or pneumonia or something that he doesn't want to catch and has hereby ordered you to stay as far away from him as possible. Difficult for you, I know. But I'm sure you'll survive somehow."

Newkirk's chuckle was short lived as his side protested. "Och, don't make me laugh, that hurts!"

Hogan patted Newkirk's shoulder before stepping away from the bunk for a moment, out of Newkirk's limited range of motion and vision. He came back with a mug of water. "Here, take a sip." He gently put a hand under Newkirk's back and held the mug up to his lips. Newkirk forced himself to take a few tentative swallows before turning his head away.

"Thanks." His eyes began to droop again, despite his best efforts.

"You lost a whole lot more blood than is usually advisable." Hogan twisted to rest the mug on the communal table in the center of the room before returning, putting his hands in his lap. "And you absolutely ruined that uniform. Haven't I told you to be careful? Blue is so easy to stain.

"You know me, Sir. Always an overachiever." Newkirk replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He tried to give Hogan a cheeky grin, but only succeeded in a jaw cracking yawn.

"Well, overachieve with another nap, would you? If you're a good little boy, maybe LeBeau will let you have some of the soup he's been working on."

"There must be something wrong with me. Even LeBeau's fancy cooking sounds tempting."

Hogan couldn't hold in his laugh. "I'll tell him that!" He moved to stand, putting his hands on his knees to hoist himself to his feet. He took about two steps toward the stove before a soft voice called him back.

"Colonel? If you're still looking for me opinion, Carter should stay. He's still a menace, but a ruddy brilliant one. You should have seen him when the chips were down. Jumped in like he was part Kraut. If he doesn't belong in this madhouse, I don't know who does."

"Noted, Corporal. The transfer of one Andrew J. ' _Ruddy Menace'_ Carter to our command approved. Good job tonight. Now get some sleep."

Newkirk carefully shifted in the bunk, a deep and satisfied sigh escaping as his eyes closed. The last thought as the barracks went dark, naturally this time, was that life in their little corner of Allied Controlled Germany was about to get more interesting. The most surprising part?

He was actually looking forward to it.


End file.
